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people of an extraordinary beauty - hand in hand - on sittting and listening - opening their hearts with song and prayer. In the corner of the anteroom was a young white firl, so withdrawn - drawing away trying to make a head - all she could see were heads, they overwhelmed  her and her talent, she seemed so along but them I felt no - she is being part of something and feels needed. just the color of ther sking is needed.
She is giving something immeasurable just by being here - and there is a strange wonderful reward in it all, she is feeling needed, perhaps for the first time in her life - for she looks as if her family never cared what she did or where she was - as long as
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she didn't threaten the system.
The Bishops and ministers and nuns and laymen and children and old folks still arrive - tired, exhausted but alive - tingling with the spirit.
We return to the yard - we move into the street, stand beneath the [[?]] berry tree, staggly thing with its rotten berries but what nostalgic memories flood on one - the yards of my youth, the trees, fields - churches, Jimmies wedding not so far from here, the afternoon was much the same - a back road - a simple house filled with song - my aunt Jessie and me were the only white people - the procession comes across the brow of a hill -singing - I shall never forget this as we stand there wathcing